


Fog

by bettysugars_writes



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26494723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettysugars_writes/pseuds/bettysugars_writes
Summary: He has to leave, and she knows it. It’s up to you for a backstory
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Fog

Betty decides there’s no way she’d rather be woken up than by the kiss of Jughead Jones. Even if the kiss was more of a fervent attack than a gentle touch. Even if she knew why he really did it-to apologize for an event happening subsequently. 

“You’re finally awake,” Jughead says as he uses his hand to gently make her face him. “That was only the fourth try.”  
“What were the other three?” She asks.  
He props himself up on his elbows and presses a quick kiss to her forehead. Then he falls back.   
“That answer your question?” He answers playfully. She spies indiscretion behind his eyes, and he looks down like he knows it.  
“I guess so.” She says, uncertainty mellowing behind her syllables, even though it does answer her question.  
Jughead reaches up and gingerly tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and uses extra effort to make sure it stays. It’s unnecessary, of course, and they both choose to ignore that fact. Betty wonders if that’s going to be the atmosphere today. Pure tenderness and acute yet silent word exchanges.

Because she knows he feels guilty.

“You know,” she says, “I could get used to this. Waking up like this every morning. Forever and ever.”  
Then she realizes what she said. That she’s positioned herself so perfectly that it’s too awkward to avoid the truth. The source behind the gentleness. She doesn’t know if she regrets her unintentional play but waits for him to reply. All possible sidetrack sentences die on her tongue. 

“You know I have to go.” He whispers, and she does.  
~~~

Betty sees the lust in his magnified pupils, black swallowing blue, and she almost hears him tell her to. She follows suit.

He revels in her immediate fervor and lets her express her vehement love with her tongue. He eventually reciprocates and instantly draws a timid moan out of her. He snakes his hands under her coat and hugs her waist with them. He realizes he might be pressing too hard but she gives him no indications she’s hurt. A minute later, Betty finally draws her bloated lips away and presses her forehead to his. That’s when Jughead feels the first tear fall on him. 

Betty crying is something he no less than heavily prepared for. But all responses seemed to have been sucked out of him, like his breath. So instead of telling her something untrue, like it’s going to be okay, he tilts her head down into the crook of his neck. She doesn’t linger there; she throws her arms around him and desperately cries.

She wails and sobs until she chokes on her own tears; any wisps of air left in her dissipated. He slowly unhooks her arms from around his neck but after doing so, quickly realizes she won’t let go of his hands. And when he tries, he can’t either. He looks into her eyes. They’re a glassy green but completely empty, drained of any tears, he wonders if she feels dehydrated. Her bottom lashes are wet and her waterlines red-rimmed, deep inside her dilated pupils lie hope of a last-minute change of plans but also withhold broken truth. 

Jughead decides it’s the most complexity he’s ever seen in someone.

His lips finally dry of her saliva, he quickly presses a cold kiss to her forehead and rips his hands out of hers, taking off into the foggy night. It sweeps him up, and just like that, he’s gone.

Betty crumples to the ground, broken once again as he leaves. Realization hits and it’s a scare. She screams for him to come back but the air swallows up her attempts and her it only echos inside her soul. Nobody comes. Nobody comes to help her. Tears she didn’t know she still held leak out of her eyes and she looks up at the moon. She doesn’t know it, but it reflects in her irises. Her lips quiver, and subconsciously knows she tastes salt. Her core trembles restlessly and her efforts to calm it are futile. A few minutes later, she solemnly laments. And finally, for the first time, she looks ahead in the abyss. Orange street lights reflect off the cobbled pavement, still wet with the recent downpour. A refreshing wind hits the air and blows her disheveled hair askew. Her jeans are soaked with rainwater.

Betty manages to stand up, but can’t take her eyes off the dark, cloudy chasm in front of her, where she might lose a million dreams.


End file.
